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Going downtown with The Disney Chick

On a magical Saturday night, her car truly was the Happiest Place on Earth…

I don’t remember which dating website I met her on.  I don’t remember her name and I remember very few things about her.  I do remember what I was doing when we arranged our date and I remember what she was, or rather wasn’t, wearing when we met for our one and only date.  I do remember when I was talking with my friends I referred to her as The Disney Chick.  That much I’m sure of.

We traded a few e-mails and talked on the phone once and were going to try and go out on a Saturday night.  I don’t remember when it was, but I spent the day in the backyard cutting down a medium sized tree by myself and doing some other yard work, so I’m guessing it was probably spring.

She called one morning and asked what I was doing that night.  “Nothing,” I told her.  Just chillin.  She said that she wanted to go out with me and that she would try and get a sitter.  “No promises,” she told me.  “But I will try.”  Drama Queen was spending the night at grandma’s place, so I was totally free until early Sunday afternoon.

Around 3 PM she called back to say that she found someone to watch her kids and if I was still up for it, she wanted to meet for a couple of drinks.  I said that I was available and we decided on 7.  She asked about meeting at Downtown Disney since it was halfway between her place and mine and because it was a Saturday night it would probably be pretty happening.

I agreed and finished with the tree, then went inside to take a long, hot shower to relax my tired muscles.  Once done in the shower I found a pair of jeans that made my butt look its best (years of soccer and hockey got it looking good and I figure that you should accentuate your best feature), grabbed a shirt, threw on some shoes and headed towards Disneyland.

I found a decent parking spot and headed towards House of Blues and Tortilla Joes Cantina.  Ironically, that was the same Tortilla Joe’s Cantina where two years later The 36-Year-Old Virgin and I would have our first date.

The Disney Chick was already waiting and she looked pretty good.  We hugged hello and decided to walk around a bit before we got a drink.  We chatted about this and that and looked at who was coming to the House of Blues in the next couple months and shared our musical interests.  We popped in and out of shops and spent a lot of time in the World of Disney store, laughing at the tourists buying their overpriced, lame souvenirs and we tried on crappy hats that we had no intention of purchasing.  We finally decided it was time for some alcohol, so we exited the store and made our way back towards the booze.

We decided on Uva Bar because it was outside and we could enjoy the nice weather, talk and continue laughing at tourists.  I’m not sure why it’s so much fun to laugh at the Disney tourists, but it is.  I don’t remember what she ordered but I do remember it was hard liquor.  This chick was definitely not a wine sipper.  I liked that.

The drinks arrived, we clinked glasses and continued to talk about the usual first date stuff—job, kids, etc.  She worked for a large food company doing marketing.  I think it was a poultry company but I’m not sure.  She had two kids who were slightly older than Drama Queen.  She also seemed to have a bit of drama in her life, which I wasn’t overly thrilled about, but it was too early to judge.

About 30 or 45 minutes into the conversation we ordered another round–probably our third.  Maybe the fourth.  We were having fun.  She and I were sitting at the bar and it was a bit crowded, so we were pretty close to each other.  I know that our legs were touching and that on a couple of occasions she had leaned over to grab something off the bar and her rack brushed up against me—on purpose I’m pretty sure.  As I recall, she had a nice set.  Not overly impressive, but nice nonetheless.  For the record, I wasn’t complaining about them brushing up against me.

When the bartender delivered the aforementioned drinks she took a sip, looked at me and asked me what kind of underwear I was wearing.  I gazed at her, took a long, slow drink of my Jack and Coke and said, “Boxer briefs.  Why?  What are you wearing?”

“I’m not wearing any,” she replied.  I looked at her for a moment and said “bullshit.”  She then proceeded to stand up, push herself against me, unbutton the button on her jeans and grab my hand and move it down the side of her leg.  “Holy crap,” I thought.  She isn’t wearing any.

She slowly moved my hand back up (she still had her chest pressed against me) and quietly asked if I was sure that I was wearing boxer briefs.  “Pretty sure,” I told her, with a gleam in my eye.  She stared at me with a mischievous look and whispered, “Let me check.”  And with that she stuck her hand down the back of my jeans and grabbed my ass.

I think it’s safe to say that the flirting was on!  We kissed a few times, had a couple more drinks and she asked me where I was parked.  I told her that I had a pretty good spot and she said, “I guess we can go to my car.  I purposely parked way in the back.”  I got the bartenders attention and paid the check.  She grabbed my hand as we left the bar, passing all the families with screaming kids as we headed towards the parking lot.

This night was nothing like I had pictured when I was at home.  I’m not saying that I was totally opposed to the direction it was heading, I’m just saying that when I was walking towards the House of Blues, this is NOT how I figured the night would end.

We got about halfway through the lot and she started fumbling through her purse.  After a couple moments I asked her if she was having a hard time finding her keys.  “Nope,” she replied.  “The keys are right here.  I’m looking for a condom.”

Let’s just say that I learned a few things that night:  First is that the back seat in a Dodge Grand Caravan folds pretty flat and that it’s actually kind of comfortable.  I wouldn’t want to sleep on it, but I wasn’t sleeping.  Second is that the tinted windows work pretty well—especially at night.  Third is that I was actually a bit more flexible than I thought I would be after cutting down a tree all day.

We talked on the phone once or twice after that but never did go out again.  My early suspicions were confirmed; The Disney Chick had a lot of drama in her life and no matter how much fun that first date was, dating her was not going to be worth the headache.

Not going out again was no big deal, because on a magical Saturday night, her car truly was The Happiest Place on Earth.

J.R.

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Filed under Dating

My Daughter, The Drama Queen

I need to make a mental note to pick up a big bottle of Jack Daniels tomorrow.  Some Cuervo Black too.

So far I’ve spent a lot of time regaling you with some of my crazy dating stories.  I’ve introduced you to The Period One, The 36-Year-Old Virgin, The Bookstore Chick and my personal favorite, The Phone Sex Operator (P.S.O.).

I’ve briefly mentioned a few more people who play important parts in my life—there’s the Drama Queen (my 12-year-old daughter) and O.C.B. (A.K.A. Original Crazy B****, A.K.A. the Drama Queen’s mom) and The Kings Fan, who has been one of my closest friends since we met 15 years ago.  The Kings Fan came to the hospital when Drama Queen was born and he was there when she was a baby and we would play pickup hockey with her sleeping in her car seat in the penalty box.

This blog is advertised as “The world of dating and parenting from the perspective of a full-time single dad raising a 12-year-old daughter.  You will usually laugh, sometimes cry and often say, “What the hell was he thinking?” So far we’ve covered the dating, the laughing (sometimes laughing so hard that you cry) and we have more than covered “what the hell was he thinking.”  Now it’s time to get into some parenting…

Long story short, O.C.B. is bi-polar.  There’s not a joke in there anywhere.  She’s bi-polar.  Her doctor told me that there is always some event or circumstance in a bi-polar person’s life that brings out the sickness and for O.C.B. it was having The Drama Queen (D.Q.).  I held the family together as long as I could, but O.C.B. didn’t take her medicine and when D.Q. was five, it was time for mom to move out, thus ending an 11 year adventure.  Since then I have had full custody of her.  The judge gave mom monitored visitation, but she rarely went.  The bottom line is that in 7 years D.Q. has seen or talked to her mom no more than 20 times and even went through a 4-year stretch with absolutely no communication.

I know that I’m not the best dad in the world, but I do the best I can and I think that I do OK, all things considering.  I don’t have a sister, so I can’t look back on memories from my childhood and remember what my parents did in certain situations.  My mom is 2,566 miles away and can help via phone, but it’s not the same.  My goal is to maintain health insurance so that D.Q. can start seeing a really good therapist; one who can balance out all the mistakes that I make!

I’ve been told that the eye rolling and attitude are par for the course with a hormonal 12-year-old.  Oh yeah, I’ve also been told by P.S.O. that all signs indicate that she’s about to have a regular visitor.  Damn.

She needs to go and get a new type of underwear—one which I am happy to say I can take off a woman with one hand tied behind my back (or tied to the headboard), but a type of underwear which I have absolutely no clue how to buy for a 12-year-old.    I need to make a mental note to pick up a big bottle of Jack Daniels tomorrow.  Some Cuervo Black too.

What’s life like at my house?  Well, I’m making chili at this moment and it’s almost done.  I told her that I wanted it to simmer for another 20 minutes or so and then we would eat.  I took a small spoonful so that I could make sure it couldn’t use any more seasoning.  It needed a touch more garlic and some chili powder, so I put them in the pot and grabbed a spoon (not the one I just ate from) and prepared to mix them in.  At that moment the Drama Queen burst into the kitchen and asked if she could stir.  I told her that she could, but to be careful as I didn’t want to have to clean up a mess.  She looked at me and said with a completely straight face but more than a hint of eye roll,  “I think that I can stir chili without any parental consent.”    Oy vey!!!!

J.R.

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Filed under Parenting, Phone Sex Operator